


Purgatory is calling darling

by MelodiousPoison



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Gen, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Purgatory AU, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodiousPoison/pseuds/MelodiousPoison
Summary: Eros is an incubus, a demon who requires sexual energy to survive and thrive even as the centuries pass by. Performing in an underground club as a means to satiate his personal hunger under the guidance of fellow demon Minako, he meets an enigma, 'Aria'. Sometimes gentlemanly, other times rogueish but always, satisfying. Will Yuuri succumb to the charms of his addicted buyer?The main story from the Honeyed Poison one-shots compilation.More tags and characters will be added as they are included.(Aria is Viktor)





	1. Welcome to Purgatory

It was easy to forget when the music was begun, how easy the rhythm made him forget. The winding passage of time fading into hands exploring the form he created. Centuries disappearing into ballads as he lazily hooks his legs around the pole and spins, hiding the strength he had inside. All to look far too good to be true.

 

And he was.

 

A demon, a succubus, a son of Lilith. You received a kiss from her when you took the oath to serve her, a kiss that you will never able to compete with, even if you had found a present soulmate. One you grew old with until they died and you vanished back into the world of sex and debauchery once more.  
He extends his arm effortlessly, thighs attached to the pole, flexing suggestively for the appreciative audience while the maids served champagne to them. He was both god and item, something to worship and abuse. That was the goal of purgatory, to feed, they had to serve humans.  
Sliding back into the pole, he goes downwards, a smooth motion that many would think was easy. Centuries of practice made it so as he reaches the floor while continuing to straddle the pole. He slides a hand up his sheer stockings, right up to the red garter. Pulling it back, timed perfectly to silence, the smacking noise could be heard to twitters of approval.  
The music changes then, it crept slowly as he begins to pull down the strap of the red bralette down over his shoulder with a wink. His leg moves upwards before it changes to him kneeling in front of the pole, his tongue teasingly poked out as if to lick.  
Time continues, even when all you wanted was time for stand still, not have to watch the person you thought loved you disappear. The ache remains, Yuuri has never found another person like them, all that remained were blue eyes that haunted his dreams.  
He was crawling to the front of the stage, his eyes levelly gazing at the front, before he stops right at the precipice and he leans back, bringing his gloved hands to his lips. Taking them off with his teeth, he lets it drop to the floor before his fingers trail down his exposed stomach, right down to the waiting panties, red and exposed to everyone.  
Degrees of heat lay in his body but he didn’t feel it, not as he once had when he was first transformed. Their adoration, their longing felt like tendrils of warmth, feeling down his body. Once it made him shake, his body unable to contain it. Now it scarcely entered his mind, as he leans forward and steals a kiss from a waiting woman, her red lipstick smearing with his.

 

She bought him tonight, as he rolls on the ground, arching his back off the wooden floor, eyes never moving far from his. She bought Eros, the provocateur, the one who would smile at her with all teeth, playfully biting down his lip as he lifts his leg to the air.  
The one that throws her up against the wall with ease while he whispers promises into her skin. “Mark me,” she says, voice tremulous when before it was cordial and cool. He had her soul bare when he was the one with only lace and satin upon his skin. Her lust was like ice, bringing shivers down his spine as he deftly unbuttons her. His lips seeking hers in small kisses that devolved into sloppy, until her blouse falls away, revealing her but not enough so he brings his teeth down and pulls down her bra.  
He marks her then in bites, and sucks until all were left were red patches on her smooth skin. Until he helps her pull down her trousers. Her underclothes were black, simple but nicely made. He could tell with his finger moving down the front, evidence of her arousal as much as the dampening in the front as the heat that could almost be tangibly seen in the air.  
If music was a distraction, the sex was a reminder. He lowers himself, her thighs now over his shoulders as she squeezes his head in a hold. Each motion brought more pleasure to her and more light to him but with it came to a promise. He licks up her the folds of her labia, slickening it with saliva before he delves in bringing a cry to her lips.  
Even then he teasingly pulls, at moments, not enough to hurt but it stimulated her, the telling signs of the wave of personal pleasure and warmth driving into him as he adds a finger to penetrate her. Warm, wet insides squelching as it becomes wetter and looser with the pleasure he was giving her.  
A promise of food, his hunger will be sated and his mistress will be satisfied. After all, she was good, a person who will be corrupted over time and once he may have been saddened but now. Now it was just humanity if it wasn’t him who only brings her delight in the flesh. It will be despondency, it will be dependence. At least his dependence only cost a few inklings of her life. There were much worse things out there.  
Until her thighs shake and her insides clench around his fingers, a small scream, so cutely done with her toes curled. He continues, taking the dripping nectar of her bodily fluids onto his tongue and continues until all that is left is a husk as she dreamily falls into her bed, while he strokes her hair. Until she sleeps and he silently leaves the house, the cool night air of Autumn coiling around him, he shifts then. From the ruined lingerie from the night of debauchery into blue jeans and a grey jacket. Once a shining beacon of sin, now ordinary. He walks, his footsteps quiet but he glowed. Sex bringing a new warm shade to his skin. If anyone bothered to stare at the man for more than a second.

 

He returns to Purgatory to report, his hands clasped in front of him as he sleepily takes his glasses off and wipes them even when they shone with the newness of shifting.  
“So, how was she?” Minako turns to him, her preferred form was that of an ageless Japanese ballet teacher. Her posture perfect, her eyebrows raised in question as she crosses her arm, making the simple motion graceful.  
“Acceptable,” he murmurs in response. Succubi and incubi had a euphoric effect on everyone but for the right people... An addiction, she will not be able to stay away, she may not need him necessarily but she will need the hit.  
“Perfect, go enjoy your week. Go meet people,” she gestures with a shooing motion while she smoothly seats herself in her chair. She always stayed behind to ensure all her little demons returned, the first to arrive, the last to leave.


	2. Traditions are just daily superstitions Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yet it was the sad smile Yuuri gave, the way he turned away and looked at the coming dawn. A smile that came with the laugh, a broken thing, imperfect but still brilliant all the same."

He opens the door, his footwear removed before he transitions once more, baggy clothes with only his glasses remaining from the previous shift. It was comforting all the same but even still he holds himself tightly. So many have lost their way, fall under a spell of their own creation and become a slave to their own miserable power. The high, so incredible, each part of you alive with the spark of a perfect union even if it costs a person a piece of their soul. Every time. It was so easy to want it but Yuuri clenches his hands into fists. 

 

He steps through to his room, his eyes only briefly glancing across the hall before he lowers his eyes again, glasses perched. They didn’t need sleep but there was a comfort to be his own sheets and bedding, to curl up and know he was still his own because it was so easy. He falls forward into his own room, the warmth of his blankets filling him with gentle warmth and he sighs. A long release, curling his fingers into the depth below not bothering to remove anything before he closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

 

“So how was your night shift?” Phichit makes air quotation marks around the night shift, spatula in hand a mischievous grin painted over his features. 

 

Yuuri returns his own incoherent grunt, sliding into the chair, turned away from the sun that poured in, his eyes squinting blearily from behind his glasses. However, it was the smell, rich and heady and it made Yuuri in equal measure mouth water and feel ill to the stomach, senses on overdrive. It was not the only change evidenced by Phichit who plates the food and places it in front of his friend. 

 

Yuuri was attractive, anyone with two eyes could see it if you looked beyond the frankly drab clothes he liked to hide behind. Even his glasses were intended to obscure, he would place his life savings on it. After all, they lived in this amazing apartment and, yet he chooses those instead of the designer brands he could surely afford. Clicking his tongue with a commanding eat, he continues to muse over his friend. 

 

He was aware of the real meaning behind the night shift, but he wasn’t planning to judge anytime soon. If he didn’t have parental support and sponsorship he probably would prompt Yuuri to let him in.   
But. 

 

It was the morning after or even the week it followed. Yuuri practically shone after them, his skin was even more flawless, his hair even in his dishevelled state looked silky but it was his presence. He commanded the room where once he might have been able to blend in.Even when Phichit saw him after the first time after moving in together, even he wouldn’t have said no, and he might even have tried his hand that night as well. Yuuri had noticed it, and for the first time Phichit never felt so relieved when Yuuri had laughed and rejected him;

 

“You mean too much to me Phichit,” he laughs, his hand squeezing Phichit’s own before moving himself away. 

 

If it was anyone else, Phichit would have passed it off as someone not finding him attractive. He knew he was cute, but not to everyone’s taste. Yet it was the sad smile Yuuri gave, the way he turned away and looked at the coming dawn. A smile that came with the laugh, a broken thing, imperfect but still brilliant all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex is easy. It's the mundane, the ordinary, the bland that is hard to master.


	3. Crystal Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What world could he be in when they could ever truly trust each other? He lifts the tea to his lips, only tasting it at the tip of his tongue before returning it to the bench."

Another night, another revelry. Eros smiles, eyes lingering off to the distance, but they felt it. His warmth emanating even when he stands languidly, caged but not trapped. The audience was the true captive, enraptured at the sight. They begin to bid, money being placed, not the true cost but that was all they understood. Their currency, their language, a person’s time being bought, and it was worth it. To have thick fluttering lashes looking at them and them alone. For Eros himself, all he covered was crystals, shining and reflecting the gentle light till all that it left was glitter in its wake. He closes his eyes and tilts his neck against the bars enclosing him, revealing the glimmering stones upon his soft throat and he whimpers. A soft, breathless thing, release him, his body almost begged. Minako watches with detached approval, each waitress returning with the offers on their gilded plates. One by one, she reads, turning away from the arresting view of Eros until she reaches the highest offer. Lifting a brow, a small scoff escapes her lips.

 

They had spent centuries together, Yuuri and her. He had been assigned to her, maybe because they had shared similar origins in their becoming. Minako believed it was their love of their performance, the raw sensuality and vulnerability all open to lure unsuspecting human that Yuuri had that made them be more than overlord and minion. Time passed but that had never changed even when Yuuri and she had been separated. In all ways, all they had was each other in the daydream of a midnight courtesan. Alas, it was time for the show to end for Yuuri to end and be handed over. Minako steps forward, a silver sequin dress encasing her lithe form. Her eyes roam predatorially before she tilts her finger within the bars. Eros responds accordingly, his cheek leaning towards the stray digit before she takes it away from him. She returns her gaze to the audience, an eyebrow raised at the winning competitor who merely shrugs his response, a lazy grin on his face.

 

“The winner today is Himeros. Treat your jewel carefully, it is priceless after all,” she drawls, polite chatter drowning out any sounds Yuuri makes as he moves towards the door of the iron precipice. 

 

Himeros, or Christopher Giacometti in his human form was never one to touch the succubus. Angels had leeway when they had to interact with humanity, and the more hell borne but it was tenuous. Something that one misstep would be each feather of blue and silver becoming ashen grey of the fallen. Even still, he appreciated the beauty of the depraved and he greatly appreciated his prize for the night even when all they did was drink tea as the heavens roamed above them. A succubus and a guardian angel being friends sounded like a cosmic joke but as Chris thinks continually. Father had a sense of humour wherever he may be.Yuuri himself could never believe a man that bleed sexuality in every step, eyes that glinted danger could be an angel until he saw the small grace he released. It was blinding the little he could see and all he felt that moment was fear and beneath the quake of the threat of death. Relief, but he would never have admitted it even when he raised his dark eyes before the sliver of unyielding light. He expected to have been destroyed there and then, unsure how this Himeros could have gotten past Minako’s meticulous care but then he laughs and brings Yuuri close. Friends he had proposed then and there;

 

“Or if you prefer, you can call me master Eros –“Chris turns away to the unblinking and bewildered Yuuri, “After all. Creatures of the night need to stick together.”

 

Yuuri has had been many things for people through the years. Slave, master, pet, robot yet it was his friendship with Himeros which struck a chord of surreality that he could never quite shake. Demons and angels were beyond petty human squabbles. This was the meaning of the world, the eternal struggle between the two factions. Yet here he was listening to Chris describe his charge, their tea still untouched by his relentless speech;

 

“He is so boring. Sweet but boring. I could never see why he was placed under protection. Mine, nonetheless,” Chris chattered on, his eyes unbiddenly shown the affection he held towards the mystery man.

 

Yuuri was sure it was an exaggeration. He had found from the few encounters he had been allowed with the angel, he was prone to drama although the releasing of his grace in front of a demon should have been a tip-off point. Even still, he kept his thought to himself, instead he lowers his gaze to his own tea, swirling leaves in a liquid amber hue. 

 

What world could he be in when they could ever truly trust each other? He lifts the tea to his lips, only tasting it at the tip of his tongue before returning it to the bench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as it stands the current structure will be night-time Eros versus day-time Yuuri.  
> Let me know what you think of this incarnation of Chris if you have any thoughts or ideas!


	4. The Gifts We Bring Upon Ourselves or Traditions are just daily superstitions Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He wasn’t sure if he should fight or flee from a clear supernatural threat."

“You need to question the validity of Joy’s work in regard to productivity and sustainability…” The lecturer drones on. Everyone was in varying states of boredom; the material will be covered in the lecture notes anyway was the general consensus of the class.  
Yuuri meanwhile turns the pages of his notebook, burning through the spaces with sharp scratches of his pen. He decided to enlist in a business course, a desperate need in him needed to help beyond the entertainment section of the business. With practicality, boredom and a hint of morose determination, he wanted to help Minako who was, despite her passion for the role of queen of the court of night, losing her touch for the mortal realm. It was moving rapidly and her political manoeuvring with others of their ilk had left her tied up.

 

Even so, Yuuri rushed out of the lecture without a second glance. Phichit and he won’t see each other till lunchtime and his shoulders tensed subconsciously. His next class was on the other side of campus and he wasn’t prepared to be around anyone. They made him nervous, he was unsure how much was the influence of his ‘energy’ that made them like him or if he was somehow likeable beyond his night profession. 

 

Adjusting his glasses once more, he felt himself fall back against the cool surface of the ground, his notebooks and pens gone awry in the sudden assault.  
“I’m so sorry,” the other’s voice reached Yuuri’s ears, confident and cool through the syllables with harsher with an accent. A distinctly masculine voice, with Yuuri’s body responding unwittingly, warmth forming and curling in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach. He berates himself internally. He shouldn’t be hungry when he just fed last night he thinks to himself mockingly. 

 

With his self-admonishment done, Yuuri narrowed his eyes upwards. Minako and the others had joked about him choosing to diminish his own sight, but it comforted him having something familiar from when he was a human.  
“It’s fine,” Yuuri brushes away the apology while searching for his glasses. He was prone to the succubus glow causing people to become distracted by him. It gave him a viable excuse to try distance himself from people who -

 

Oh.

 

Clad in glasses once more, Yuuri could only wince at the attractive man. An attractive man who was now leaning over and picking up his pens and notebook. He was clearly important as far as being inside the college with designer clothes and perfectly styled hair and not to mention his teeth and nails. However, beyond all the obvious hints that this man did not belong in a college in any capacity, his hair was silver and Yuuri narrows his eyes once more. 

 

He wasn’t sure if he should fight or flee from a clear supernatural threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART OF THE TEN K MONSTROSITY I CREATED FOR SECRET SANTA
> 
> HAHAHAHAHA
> 
> I wanted to die the entire time.


	5. Crystal Daydreams Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angels take greater risks than others.
> 
> \- Chris takes advantage of the services he has paid for.

Time passes between the two men as they continue to drink and chatter in between companionable silence. Eros still felt the lingering weariness that dwelled beneath, a response to naturally created enemies. Even so, when the night lingers on, and they both had their fill, he takes Himeros’s offered hand and is lead towards their night festivities.

 

When they reach the bedroom, Eros takes in the sight which always felt new with each occurrence, each time a new bedspread and sheet set. He could tell that they were not simple, quality but not gauche, a pretence almost that he was ordinary. Albeit as ordinary as a wealthy man of questionable taste could be. Himeros releases his hand and Eros moves forward on his own, crawling forwards against the edges of the bed inwards, the blanket and sheets bunching beneath his movements. 

 

He hears Himeros moving behind him in the distance, hyperaware of the sounds the angel made from behind him before he hears the familiar sound of him seating himself down. Only then does he turn around, collapsing back into the softly waiting fall from cushioned pillows. Silence dominates between them, but it was familiar with an edge of danger, the crystals clinking together the only sound that escapes. Eros sucks in a breath between his teeth before he releases his true nature for the viewer, dark essence flowing beneath his skin, breathing his want to be desired. His eyes gaze with the glow of his true demonic form, heated warm hues gazing directly into the predatory yellows that responded instinctually to his silent challenge. 

 

Eros begins slowly, his arms raising before his fingers rest on his cheek before delicately falling down his skin. Downwards they fall, crystals dissolving hot just before his touch reaches them instead replaced with his skin, pliant and warm to his own ministrations. He remains quiet and only releases a gasp when he roughly grasps onto the bud of his nipple, squeezing tightly upon it. His ears burnt with a noise of appreciation that came from the quiet corner of the voyeur, spurring him on to continue. 

 

His other hand joins to the other neglected nipple, both toyed with by his own hand. His body responds frantically, his feet kicking against the raised fabric of the bedspread. It was a mixture of performance and reality and Himeros admired it openly, conjuring a glass of wine to his hand and his eyes never waver from the sight. Beneath the appearance of an appreciative audience member, his desire slid into Eros and it seared even from so little an acknowledgement, the angelic essence clashing and sliding against his own in a medley warring beneath his physical form. 

 

One hand haphazardly trails lower across his stomach, splaying across the smoothness of it, taking a minute to breathe in and out stilling his hands. Embarrassment floods him briefly that he had turned his sight away from the other, returning them to where they have subconsciously strayed from. The impact of seeing Himeros’s eyes upon him always hit him immediately, his inner demon gleefully luxuriating in a lustful angel’s sight.

 

Impatience grips Eros as it always did in time, simple touches against his warm skin, simply not enough. He hungers, he seethes with determination to receive more from the voyeur. The final low embers of the heat he was receiving and creating laid waste to any reserve he held once more. He grips at his still only half hard length, the pressure mounting inside him needing an immediate external outlet. 

 

Tonight, it was even more harried than it would normally be. He would usually tease himself more, touching himself until he was flushed and leaking precum onto his burning skin but the cock itself would remain untouched. A leg curves upwards, not barring Himeros’s view of what was happening but instead reveals the sudden change in Eros to act so instinctively.

 

Seeing Eros’s expression torn between frustration and determination only made Himeros’s own stifled nature crash against his better judgement. After all, he was only allowed to watch, already testing boundaries far beyond what angelic decency would allow but he loved it. The challenge, the thrill and the depraved beauty Eros exuded even if it did not come from any place of selflessness.

 

Eros grips hand on his Eros and begins to move his hand along it, squirming breathlessly even while his grip remains firm as it grows beneath his hand. Himeros smiles at the sight, a pleased chuckle escaping his lips. In his mind, he wonders even now, what it would be like to touch for himself, would it hurt as beautifully as it did now? He swallows greedily at his wine, in tempo to the strokes that Eros used upon himself before it became empty. He places the glass on a side table, his toes curling in tension at his own restraint.

 

With each completed motion, Eros moves his hand more tightly against his length, his other hand barely holding onto the tortured hard nipple as it's tugged in time as well. He wanted desperately to close his eyes, but he continues to look into the other. Until his own threatened to spill at the intimacy it forced between the two, he wrenches his hand from his nipple and pulls himself closer together, both legs now raised as he toys along almost threateningly around his puckered hole. 

 

Himeros leans forward in response, his eyes narrowed challengingly at the performer. After all, was it not a dance they played? He takes in the needy whine that spills from Eros’s mouth, the truth always came out of the soft lips of the demon in pants and moans.

 

Eros pushes against the hole as it stretches dryly at the digit, he could have self-lubricated, but the dry friction was what he wanted and needed. Invading himself, being invaded by the ever-molten essence that leaked from Himeros’s own against him and his own hand raggedly clenching against his length. All of it humming inside him, pulling him taut to the edge and over it as white, viscous liquid pumps from his hand, submerging it as it drips lazily down to his pelvis. Even still, he only slows his motions, hearing the whispery movement of Himeros coming to look at his handiwork.

 

“Keep going,” Himeros says, his body pulled tall in front of the bed, his gaze never wavering. It burnt, it burnt so well inside him in a never-ending, teasing stream. The angel’s desire for him.


	6. Curiosity killed the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even as she appears older than any time he had ever seen them; the fact remained their very being scalded deep into his senses. Essence couldn’t be truly hidden, Viktor knew that all too well. Almost as much as the familial obligation"
> 
>  
> 
> Viktor's POV, continuing from Traditions are daily superstitions Pt. 2

Viktor, (or the name he had selected for this lifetime), was curious and for beings of his ilk, curiosity was not something to be expected anymore. He casually raises himself upwards, one of the loose pens that had escaped the clutches of its owner, had found its way into his grasp. He was aware of course, far too aware that they sensed each other, even when humans continue to pass them by.

“Really? I didn’t have a reason to be distracted,” Viktor calculatingly leans against the wall nearby, tilting his head slightly to the side with a congenial smile gracing his lips. His mind was drawn to the man, expecting a sense of _heat_ , or what one would expect infernal burning from the uniquely damned. Instead, it felt like gentle snow drifting down upon his skin, melting into the tepidness of lukewarm water. He lowers his gaze down onto the shorter man, who only seemed to become even more restless to escape from him. Their hair loosely falls in front of their face, a result of the subtle shifts of his head moving in concert with the roving eyes of its owner.

_Incubus_

The unknown demon for his part remained rooted to the spot they had found themselves in before he fully takes in Viktor for himself. His tranquil voice rebuffed Viktor’s excuse to make their apology valid, a direct contrast with their unease-driven movements;

“We can _both_ be sorry then.”

Viktor didn’t realise till he heard his own voice, chuckling at the man’s words. It was then Viktor had the urge to _touch_ and that was enough motivation for them to bring their fingers to the other’s chin and tilt it gently upwards. They recoiled from it, not too subtly shifting backwards with minute steps. Viktor imagines that the demon would have moved bodily across the hallway if it were empty and chuckles to himself.

_How amusing._

Before he could offer their name (and an invitation to buy them dinner), the demon makes a more physical escape, their head lowered forward once more and with their body following further suit to form into a bow.

“Farewell,” the mystery man offers his parting word before they all too quickly turned away from them, the body soon becoming one of the slowly decreasing masses in the hallway. All Viktor could do was watch, the seconds trickling before they too turn and leave for the opposite direction. Work, unfortunately taking precedence over their inquisitiveness for the moment.

* * *

His smile falls away and is replaced with a distinct edge to his countenance once the object of their momentary distraction. Walls give way to the crunch of deadened leaves beneath his feet, footpaths leading away from the building. Through the campus, through more doors, stairs rising upwards to the floors preferring the minimal exertion over being part of the monotonous crush of humane boredom.

A door was finally reached; the sense of the rage waiting within has warped it beyond the vision of ordinary sight. Viktor practically tasted the acidity that would be coming to him once he opened it, but he still does it, easiness in his posture and his stride before he stands behind a chair.

* * *

Yakov was not a man used to waiting. People came to him and offered their proverbial souls and maybe if they were feeling particularly greedy, a more literal Faustian deal. Even the supernatural had reason to at least respect the stalwart human who had managed to carve a place beyond what any mortal could ever dare to dream of. This and the very real reality that Viktor cared for the assuredly ageing and _dying_ man had brought him here.

“Nice weather isn’t it?” With a blatantly casual lie, Viktor pulls the chair with ease and immediately begins to flop himself upon the assuredly antique piece.

_Ah, just the way he remembers it._

Yakov snorts angrily, a ready vein already pulsing with his rage as he throws a single sheaf of paper towards Viktor who had promptly taken it into his own hand;

“Read it.”

Viktor rolls his eyes, certain to remind him that anger was bad for the health before his brows narrow in concentration;

“How does this- “, Viktor now held a pulse of frustration in his voice, fingers involuntarily clenching around the orders;  
“-concern me?”

Yakov laughs then, his residual anger tainting it with dark malice;

“You know exactly why this _concerns you, you miserable fallen_.”

Before Viktor could retort merrily, a sharp cough could be heard in front of him, startling him from his plan;

“Oh.”

It was all Viktor could muster, his rising rage deflating into bitterness. The acrid taste held in his tongue slewed away into the root of his apprehension. Lillia turned away from the window, allowing their obscuration to fade to revelation, green eyes glittering in the momentary sunlight. Even as she appears older than any time he had ever seen them; the fact remained their very being scalded deep into his senses.  Essence couldn’t be truly hidden, Viktor knew that all too well. Almost as much as the  _familial obligation_ ;

“You never liked parties.”

Lilia offers little beyond a cool stare as she moves closer to the two until she rests her hand upon her former husband’s chair, eyes never leaving Viktor’s own;

“That’s why you will be coming with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> What is writing? What is storytelling? I have no clue, guys.


End file.
